Riding Night Buses

I'm fed up. What a way to start a blog. But maybe that's why I'm doing it at all. In fact I started last October but thought it best to delete all those earlier postings. They were shall we say indiscreet. Too indiscreet, as it turned out. Anyway, Stephen and I have broken up. That is the third man in the last year I have broken up with. I got fed up with Stephen just like I got fed up with Jake and Tomasso. Sounds like sauce: Jake and Tomasso. A sort of Jamaican-Italian sauce for hot pasta dishes. I have felt a bit like a pasta at times and have not minded being made to feel hot. But neither Jake nor even Tomasso (don't say I haven't gone out of my way) really cut it. Nor Stephen as it turns out, though he was pretty good in many ways, mind and body you know. But mechanical. No soul. For that matter no tenderness, no sensuality. Just mechanical. He thought thrusting was enough. I liked the thrusting too, and I gave as good as I got. But I wanted something else too. So I'm fed up. But it's also because of my job. Human resources, they call it. I can't say more at the moment. But nothing human about it at all. Instead I ride the night buses. London at night from the top of a bus is the most beautiful place in the world.